^ 

University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

B  equ  es  t      of 
LOUISIANA    SCOTT    SHUMAN 


Moon-Madness 

and 
Other      Fantasies 


by 
Aimee    Crocker    Gouraud 


(4th  Edition) 


Broadway    Publishing    Co. 
835  Broadway  New  York 


COPYRIGHT          1910 

BY 
BROADWAY  PUBLISHING  CO. 


To 

.THOSE  WHO  KNOW 


. 

7 


/"    r- 


CONTENTS 


1°— Our  Lady  of  Red  Lips     ,    ,    ,    .  7 

2°— Paula  Loved  Pearls 19 

3°— The  Dance  of  the  Cobra     ...  31 

4°— The  Painted  Mrs.  Perry     ...  43 

5 °— Kara    the    Faithful 53 

6°— Betty   and    Buddha 69 

7° — Mrs.  Pepper  in  Paris     ....  79 

8°— Moon-Madness  87 


'OUR  LADY  OF  RED  LIPS" 


MOON-MADNESS 


"OUR  LADY  OF  RED  LIPS" 


THE  place  was  Paris. 
A  man  stood  in  front  of  an  art- 
dealer's  window,  and  looked  at  the 
painted  picture  of  a  woman. 

The  man  was  about  twenty- five  years  of 
age  and  extremely  handsome. 

He  was  big  and  brawny. 

His  hair  was  brown  and  curly,  and  his 
eyes  were  blue  and  frank. 

The  woman  was  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
and  exceedingly  beautiful. 

She  was  small  and  slender. 

Her  complexion  was  creamy  white,  her 
hair  was  inky  black,  her  eyes  were  dark 
green,  and  her  lips  were  bright  red. 

m 


If  you  were  French,  you  could  tell  that 
the  man  was  American. 

And  if  you  were  an  American,  you  could 
tell  that  the  woman  was  French. 

The  man  stood  and  stared  at  the  picture. 

He  stared  at  the  white  complexion — but 
he  had  seen  complexion  like  that  before. 

He  stared  at  the  black  hair — but  he  had 
also  seen  hair  like  that  before. 

He  stared  at  the  green  eyes — but  he  had 
even  seen  eyes  like  that  before. 

He  stared  at  the  red  lips — and  he  had 
never  seen  lips  like  that  before. 

He  had  never  thought  of  such  lips. 

He  had  never  dreamed  of  such  lips. 

Of  course  their  vivid  crimson  color  was 
unnatural,  fantastic,  grotesque. 

The  picture  must  have  been  designed  for 
a  poster. 

But  nevertheless  it  fascinated  the  man 
strangely. 

The  white  face  seemed  to  turn  to  him. 

The  green  eyes  seemed  to  look  at  him. 

The  red  lips  seemed  to  smile  at  him. 

The  man  hesitated. 

And  then  he  went  into  the  shop. 

"What  is  that  picture?"  said  the  man. 
[8] 


AttJi 


"That  is  the  portrait  of  a  lady,"  said  the 
proprietor. 

"Who  painted  it?"  said  the  man. 

"Paul  Gaspard,"  said  the  proprietor. 

"Is  he  well  known?"  said  the  man. 

"He  would  have  been — had  he  lived/' 
said  the  proprietor. 

"Is  he  dead?"  said  the  man. 

"Yes,"  said  the  proprietor,  "he  died  six 
months  ago,  under  peculiar  circumstances." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  the  man. 

"He  was  young,  and  he  was  clever,  and 
he  was  handsome,"  said  the  proprietor,  "men 
admired  him,  and  women  loved  him.  The 
lady  who  posed  for  this  portrait  was  one 
of  those  who  loved  him.  She  had  loved 
other  men.  She  had  loved  an  Italian  prince. 
But  he  died.  She  had  loved  an  English 
lord.  But  he  died,  also.  And  then — she 
loved  Paul  Gaspard." 

"And  then  he  too  died !"  said  the  man. 

"Yes — and  he  too  died!"  said  the  pro- 
prietor. 

"How  did  he  die?"  said  the  man. 

"Nobody  knows  how — or  why,"  said  the 
proprietor.  "He  was  found  dead  in  his  bed 
one  morning.  That  was  all.  There  was 
[9] 


Utott 


some  sort  of  a  wound,  or  a  scar,  on  his 
breast,  over  his  heart.  For  a  time  the  coro- 
ner was  puzzled.  At  first  there  was  some 
thought  of  suicide — or  even  of  murder.  But, 
in  the  end,  the  authorities  decided  that  Paul 
Gaspard  had  died  from  natural  causes,  and 
there  the  matter  ended." 

"And  the  picture/'  said  the  man. 

"The  picture  had  just  been  finished  on  the 
very  day  he  died/'  said  the  proprietor,  "by 
a  strange  coincidence." 

"Very  strange  indeed!"  said  the  man. 

"Paul  Gaspard  had  from  time  to  time 
borrowed  sums  of  money  from  me,  until  he 
owed  me  in  all  some  fifteen  hundred  francs," 
said  the  proprietor,  "so  when  he  died,  and 
left  no  money,  I  claimed  the  picture — and 
I  got  it." 

"And  the  lady  who  posed  for  it?"  said  the 
man. 

"She  left  Paris  as  soon  as  Paul  Gaspard 
was  in  his  grave,"  said  the  proprietor. 

"Where  did  she  go?"  said  the  man. 

"To  St.  Petersburg — with  a  Russian 
duke,"  said  the  proprietor. 

"Is  she  there  now  ?"  said  the  man. 

"No,  she  is  at  Monte  Carlo,"  said  the  pro- 
prietor. 

[10] 


Attb 


"With  the  Russian  duke?"  said  the  man. 

"No,  she  is  there  alone,"  said  the  proprie- 
tor. 

"Where  is  the  Russian  duke?"  said  the 
man. 

"He  is  dead,"  said  the  proprietor. 

"Dead?"  said  the  man. 

"Yes,  dead,"  said  the  proprietor,  "as  dead 
as  all  the  rest  of  her  lovers!" 

"The  devil!"  said  the  man. 

"Quite  so!"  said  the  proprietor. 

"And  the  name  of  this  woman,"  said  the 
man,  "what  is  it?" 

"She  calls  herself  Elise  Du  Barry,"  said 
the  proprietor,  "but  other  people  call  her 
something  else." 

"What  do  they  call  her?"  said  the  man. 

"  'Our  Lady  of  Red  Lips' !"  said  the  pro- 
prietor. 

The  man  thanked  the  proprietor,  and  left 
the  shop. 

In  the  street  he  stopped  before  the  win- 
dow once  more,  and  stood  and  stared  at  the 
picture. 

"  'Our  Lady  of  Red  Lips',"  muttered  the 
man. 

And,  as  he  left  the  window,  and  walked 
away,  he  murmured,  "Monte  Carlo!" 


HUtmt 


That  night  the  man  dreamed  a  strange 
and  startling  dream. 

First  he  dreamed  of  black  hair. 

Hair  as  black  as  night. 

It  covered  the  heavens  and  the  earth. 
There  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  but 
black  hair. 

Then  he  dreamed  of  white  skin. 

Skin  as  white  as  snow. 

It  covered  the  heavens  and  the  earth. 

There  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  but 
white  skin. 

Then  he  dreamed  of  green  eyes. 

Eyes  as  green  as  the  sea. 

They  covered  the  heavens  and  the  earth. 

There  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  but 
green  eyes. 

Then  he  dreamed  of  red  lips. 

Lips  as  red  as  blood. 

They  covered  the  heavens  and  the  earth. 

There  was  nothing  else  in  the  world  but 
red  lips. 

The  lips  kissed  him  on  the  brow. 

He  felt  as  though  he  were  swooning. 

The  lips  kissed  him  on  the  mouth. 

He  felt  as  though  he  were  dying. 

The  lips  kissed  him  on  the  heart. 
[12] 


AttJi 


He  felt  as  though  the  world  were  coming 
to  an  end. 

His  soul  was  full  of  terror. 

He  uttered  a  shriek. 

And  then — he  awoke. 

The  next  day  the  man  left  Paris. 

He  went  to  Monte  Carlo. 


The  man's  name  was  Howard  Leslie. 

He  was  a  New  Yorker. 

He  was  an  only  son,  and  his  father  was  a 
millionaire. 

This  was  his  first  visit  to  Monte  Carlo. 

He  walked  into  the  Casino. 

He  looked  at  the  people. 

They  were  strange  to  see. 

And  the  people  looked  at  him. 

He  was  good  to  behold. 

The  celebrated  habitues  of  the  place  passed 
before  him. 

He  saw  Madame  de  Lara,  the  Italian 
singer. 

And  La  Belle  Bolero,  the  Spanish  dan- 
cer. 

Yvonne  Yvette,  the  French  model. 

And  Olga  Maronoff,  the  Russian  poetess. 
[13] 


And  then — with  a  bound  of  the  heart,  and 
a  gasp  of  the  breath — he  saw  her! 

Elise  Du  Barry — Our  Lady  of  Red 
Lips!  

She  wore  a  white  satin  evening  gown. 

There  were  big  pearls  in  her  hair,  around 
her  throat,  and  on  her  fingers. 

Her  complexion  was  as  white  as  her 
gown. 

Not  a  touch  of  color,  in  her  dress,  or  in 
her  face — except  her  mouth. 

But,  just  as  the  setting  sun  will  dominate 
an  evening  sky,  so  did  this  crimson  mouth 
dominate  this  ashen  face,  and  this  pallid 
figure.  One  was  conscious  of  the  woman's 
mouth,  first,  last,  and  all  the  time. 

One  could  not  help  but  be  conscious  of 
it. 

Howard  Leslie  stood  and  stared  at  her. 

And  she  paused  and  glanced  at  him. 

How  like  she  was  to  her  portrait! 

Or  rather,  how  like  her  portrait  was  to 
her! 

At  last  the  white  face  did  in  reality  turn 
to  him! 

At  last  the  green  eyes  did  in  reality  look 
at  him ! 

[14] 


At  last  the  red  lips  did  in  reality  smile 
at  him ! 

And  then  Elise  Du  Barry  passed  by. 

Howard  Leslie  followed  her. 

She  sat  at  one  of  the  tables. 

He  stood  beside  her. 

She  put  down  some  gold — on  the  red. 

She  lost. 

He  put  down  some  gold — on  the  black. 

He  won. 

She  looked  up  at  him. 

He  looked  down  at  her. 

Their  eyes  met — his  so  frank  and  blue, 
and  hers  so  strange  and  green. 

He  spoke  to  her. 

She  answered  him. 

He  didn't  know  what  he  was  saying  to 
her. 

He  didn't  know  what  she  was  saying  to 
him. 

He  only  knew  that  he  and  she  were  talk- 
ing together. 

He  only  knew  that  he  and  she  were  walk- 
ing together — out  of  the  Casino.  ...... 


One  month  passed. 

[15] 


JJUmtt 


And  then,  one  day,  all  Monte  Carlo,  all 
Europe,  and  in  fact  all  the  world,  was  sur- 
prised and  shocked  to  learn  that  Elise  Du 
Barry,  a  celebrated  French  beauty,  had 
been  strangled  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  that  the 
man  in  whose  company  she  had  been  much 
seen  of  late,  Howard  Leslie,  a  young 
American  millionaire,  had  become  a  raving 
maniac.  The  madman,  in  his  paroxysms, 
constantly  clutched  his  breast,  where  there 
was  some  sort  of  a  wound,  or  a  scar,  and 
he  continually  cried, 

"Heart's  blood!  Heart's  blood!  Heart's 
blood!" 

The  throat  of  Elise  Du  Barry  had  been 
dreadfully  disfigured  by  the  strong  hands 
that  had  crushed  the  life  out  of  her,  but 
her  mouth  was  still  a  bright  crimson  color, 
thus  entitling  the  woman,  even  in  death,  to 
the  name  by  which  she  had  been  popularly 
known  in  life — that  of  "Our  Lady  of  Red 
Lips."  .  .  ,  ,  , 


[16] 


PAULA  LOVED  PEARLS 


PAULA  LOVED  PEARLS 


PULA  didn't  care  for  diamonds. 
Or  rubies. 
Or  emeralds. 

She  only  cared  for  pearls. 

And  her  feeling  was  more  than  mere  ad- 
miration. 

It  was — love. 

Passionate  love. 

But  she  could  not  afford  to  have  pearls 
to  wear. 

So  she  had  to  be  content  to  have  pearls 
to  look  at. 

She  used  to  stand  in  front  of  the  jewel- 
lers' windows  where  there  were  pearls  dis- 
played. 

The  rings  delighted  her. 

The  brooches  bewildered  her. 

But  the  necklaces  distracted  her. 

She  used  to  gaze  at  them. 

She  used  to  gloat  over  them. 

And  then  she  would  go  home — relieved. 

But  not  satisfied. 

[19] 


In  her  bedroom  Paula  had  pictures  on  the 
walls. 

Many  were  studies  of  women  wearing 
pearls. 

Empresses  and  actresses. 

In  her  bedroom  Paula  had  books  on  the 
tables. 

Many  were  volumes  treating  of  pearls. 

Their  formation  and  their  history. 

Often  Paula  would  go  to  sleep  at  night 
reading  one  of  these  books. 

Or  looking  at  one  of  these  pictures. 

Then  she  would  dream  that  she  had  pearls 
of  her  own. 

Plenty  of  them. 

And  she  would  be  happy. 

So  you  see  that  Paula  had  a  mania. 

But  she  also  had  a  husband. 

Her  husband  didn't  have  any  money. 

But  he  had  a  position. 

A  position  with  an  exporting  concern. 

This  concern  did  business  in  the  Far 
East. 

So  a  time  came  when  Paula's  husband  was 
sent  to  the  Orient. 

And  when  Paula's  husband  went  there — 
he  took  Paula  with  him. 
[20] 


Attfc 


They  went  to  Japan. 

And  to  China. 

And  to  India. 

In  India  Paula  saw  strange  things. 

She  saw  the  Hindoos  bathing  in  the  sa- 
cred Ganges. 

She  saw  the  Parsees  exposing  their  dead 
to  the  vultures. 

And  she  saw  fakirs  making  mango  trees 
grow  out  of  seeds  before  one's  very  eyes. 

And  in  India  Paula  heard  strange  things, 
too. 

She  heard  of  strange  lives. 

And  of  strange  deaths. 

And  she  heard  of  the  Rajah  of  Raboda 
who  owned  the  finest  pearls  in  the  world. 

He  was  said  to  have  pearl  necklaces  yards 
long. 

And  pearl  pendants  the  size  of  walnuts. 

And  he  was  said  to  be  willing  and  glad 
to  display  these  treasures  to  any  visitors 
who  cared  to  journey  to  his  palace  in  the 
hills  to  see  them. 

Paula  told  her  husband  of  these  things. 

He  was  not  interested. 

Paula  asked  her  husband  to  take  her  to 
Raboda. 

He  declined. 

[21] 


Paula  asked  her  husband  if  she  might  go 
there  alone. 

He  consented. 

So  Paula  got  a  letter  of  introduction  from 
the  Consul. 

And  she  started  for  the  hills. 

Paula  arrived  at  the  Palace. 

She  presented  her  credentials. 

And  she  was  informed  that  she  might  see 
the  pearls. 

An  attendant  escorted  her  through  cor- 
ridors and  courts,  into  an  apartment  where, 
in  a  glass  case  under  iron  bars,  were  dis- 
played the  objects  that  Paula  loved. 

Loved  with  all  her  heart. 

And  with  all  her  soul 

Paula  stood  there  transfixed  with  ecstasy. 

She  stood  there — she  knew  not  how  long. 

And  then  she  became  conscious  that  some- 
one was  standing  beside  her. 

Someone  was  watching  her. 

Paula  looked  up. 

She  found  herself  facing  a  tall  man  wear- 
ing a  green  satin  robe  and  a  lavender  silk 
turban. 

Around  his  neck  was  a  string  of  pearls. 

In  his  turban  was  a  clasp  of  pearls. 
[22], 


AttJi 


And  in  his  eyes — was  a  strange  expres- 
sion  

"I  am  the  Rajah  of  Raboda,"  said  the 
man. 

"Oh !"  said  the  woman. 

"These  pearls  are  mine,"  said  the  man. 

"They  are  marvellous !"  said  the  woman. 

"You  like  pearls?"  said  the  man. 

"I — love — them !"  said  the  woman. 

It  really  was  a  strange  thing  that  Paula 
had  not  made  a  more  advantageous  mar- 
riage than  she  had  done. 

Her  husband  was  not  of  much  account. 

And  Paula  was — quite  a  beauty. 

Her  complexion  was  dark. 

Her  hair  was  black  and  glossy. 

Her  eyes  were  black  and  fiery. 

And  her  lips  Were  full  and  red. 

She  was  just  the  type  to  appeal  to  an 
American  millionaire. 

Or — to  an  Indian  Prince. 

But  Paula  had  never  met  an  American 
millionaire. 

And  she  had  never  met  an  Indian  Prince 
— before 

She  looked  at  the  face  of  the  Rajah. 
[23] 


His  skin  was  black. 

But  his  hair  and  his  eyes  were  no  blacker 
than  her  own. 

If  she  only  looked  into  his  eyes,  he  might 
have  been  a  mate  for  her. 

If  he  only  looked  into  her  eyes  she  might 
have  been  a  mate  for  him. 

And  now  he  did  look  into  her  eyes. 

And  now  she  did  look  into  his 

Paula  loved  pearls. 

And  the  Rajah  loved — women. 

The  Rajah  had  pearls. 

And  Paula  was — a  woman. 

So  they  stood  side  by  side. 

And  they  stared  at  one  another. 

Then  the  Rajah  showed  Paula  more 
pearls. 

He  conducted  her  about  the  palace. 

He  offered  her  some  refreshments. 

And  he  invited  her  to  be  his  guest  over 
night. 

Paula  accepted  his  attentions. 

And  his  invitation. 

She  wondered  if  she  were  asleep. 

And  if  this  were  a  dream. 

One  of  those  marvellous  dreams  of  hers. 
[24] 


Attfc  ©ttpr 


She  had  imagined  it  all  so  often  before. 

But  no,  this  was  not  a  vision ! 

It  was  a  reality ! 

She  was  the  guest  of  an  Indian  Prince. 

The  Prince  had  the  finest  pearls  in  the 
world. 

And  he — liked  her. 

She  appealed  to  him. 

So  Paula — thought,  and  thought,  and 
thought 

That  night  the  Rajah  put  on  even  more 
gorgeous  robes  than  he  had  worn  during  the 
day. 

And  even  more  splendid  pearls. 

Paula  forgot  to  look  at  his  black  face. 

She  forgot  to  think  of  it. 

She  only  looked  at  his  white  pearls. 

She  couldn't  think  of  anything  else. 

The  Rajah  told  Paula  of  how  his  ances- 
tors had  obtained  these  pearls  from  afar. 

How  they  had  sought  for  them. 

How  they  had  fought  for  them. 

This  one  had  been  in  the  eye  of  a  Buddha. 

That  one  had  been  the  cause  of  a  battle. 

And  so  on,  and  on,  and  on 

Then  he  stopped  speaking  of — pearls. 
[25] 


flbim 


And  he  started  speaking  of — her. 

His  voice  softened. 

His  eyes  brightened 

And  at  last — he  said  it. 

He  was  a  prince. 

He  possessed  pearls. 

He — loved — her!  .  .  .  .  * 

What  did  it  matter? 

Where  was  the  harm? 

What  was  a — husband? 

What  was — anything? 

The  Rajah  held  her  hand  in  his. 

There  were  pearls  in  the  rings  on  his 
fingers. 

The  Rajah  put  his  arm  around  her 
waist. 

There  were  pearls  in  the  bracelets  on  his 
wrists. 

The  Rajah  crushed  her  to  his  breast. 

There  were  pearls  in  the  chains  around 
his  neck 

Paula  returned  to  her  husband. 
She  wore  a  string  of  pearls  around  her 
throat. 

She  gave  her  husband  an  explanation. 
[26] 


She  said  that  she  had  bought  the  pearls 
in  a  shop. 

She  told  him  that  they  were  imitation. 

And  he  believed  her. 

And  she  despised  him  for  it. 

Poor  fool! 

He  didn't  know  the  value  of  pearls. 

But  the  Rajah  of  Raboda  did. 

And  so  did  Paula !  . 


[27] 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  COBRA 


Aiti* 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  COBRA 


THE  Place  was  the  Harem. 
The  Time  was  the  Morning. 
And  the  Occasion  was  the  Toilet. 

The  wives  and  the  women  of  the  Maha- 
rajah wrere  being  made  beautiful  for  the 
pleasure  of  their  lord  and  master. 

Their  bodies  were  bathed  in  the  pool. 

And  anointed  with  oils. 

And  burnished  with  buffers. 

With  infinite  care  and  patience,  blue  veins 
were  traced  on  their  limbs,  and  red  tips  were 
painted  on  their  breasts. 

Their  raven  locks  were  scented,  and  their 
dusky  cheeks  were  tinted. 

Their  eyes  were  darkened  with  kohl,  and 
their  mouths  were  brightened  with  carmine. 

The  nails  of  their  fingers  and  of  their  toes 
were  stained  a  ruddy  hue. 

But  none  of  the  wives  or  the  women  de- 
manded or  received  more  care  or  attention 
than  did  Lotus  Flower,  the  favorite  dancing 
girl  of  the  Maharajah. 

For  none  was  so  lithe  of  limb  nor  so 
[31] 


supple   of   joint   as   was   this    same   Lotus 
Flower. 

She  it  was  who  could  sway  the  slowest. 

And  she  it  was  who  could  whirl  the 
fastest. 

Lotus  Flower  was  a  young  Circassian 
beauty. 

She  had  been  brought  from  Bagdad. 

For  two  days  the  Maharajah  had  had  in 
the  palace  as  his  guest  an  English  officer, 
one  Captain  Esme  Lawrence. 

And  for  two  nights  Lotus  Flower  had 
been  summoned  to  the  Court  of  Delight  to 
dance  before  the  visitor. 

The  first  night  Lotus  Flower  had  per- 
formed the  Dance  of  the  Flames. 

She  had  pirouetted  in  and  out  among 
lighted  candles. 

The  English  officer  had  watched  her  in- 
tently. 

The  second  night  Lotus  Flower  had  per- 
formed the  Dance  of  the  Sword. 

During  her  gyrations  she  had  borne  a 
scimitar  upon  her  head. 

Again  the  English  officer  had  watched 
her  intently. 

To-night  Lotus  Flower  was  to  perform 
the  Dance  of  the  Cobra. 
[32] 


Anb  ©tlpr 


And  to-morrow  morning  the  English  of- 
ficer was  to  go  away. 

Lotus  Flower  must  do  credit  to  the  Ma- 
harajah. 

And  to  herself. 

She  did  not  need  to  be  told  so. 

She  understood  it  fully. 

So  she  devoted  the  entire  morning  to  the 
beautifying  of  her  body. 

And  she  devoted  the  entire  afternoon  to 
the  selecting  of  her  adornments. 

The  English  officer  had  watched  her 
hands. 

So  she  put  jingling  bracelets  around  her 
wrists. 

The  English  officer  had  watched  her  feet. 

So  she  put  jangling  bangles  around  her 
ankles. 

The  English  officer  had  watched  her 
body. 

So  she  swathed  herself  in  gleaming  gauze. 

And  the  English  officer  had  watched  her 
face. 

So  she  painted,  perfumed  and  powdered 
until  even  the  other  dancing  girls  admitted 
among  themselves  that  Lotus  Flower  had 
never  looked  lovelier. 

But  still  Lotus  Flower  was  not  satisfied. 
[33] 


The  English  officer  had  watched  her  eyes. 

So  she  put  cosmetics  around  them  to  make 
them  darker. 

And  she  put  cosmetics  into  them  to  make 
them  brighter. 

But  that  was  not  why  he  had  watched  her. 

That  was  not  how  he  had  watched  her. 

He  had  looked  beyond  the  blackness  of 
cosmetics. 

He  had  looked  beyond  the  whiteness  of 
cosmetics. 

He  had  looked  in,  in,  in — to  her  soul. 

And  her  soul  had  looked  out,  out,  out — 
to  him. 

Lotus  Flower  realized  that  she  did  not 
need  kohl  and  carmine  with  which  to  charm 
the  English  officer. 

And  this  knowledge  made  her  glad. 

And  this  knowledge  made  her  sad,  too — 
at  the  same  time. 

Do  you  doubt  that  such  a  paradoxical 
state  of  mind  could  exist? 

Out  upon  you  then, — truly  you  can  know 
but  little  of  the  ways  of  woman! 

That  night  a  splendid  repast  was  served 
in  the  Great  Banquet  Hall. 
[34] 


Afterwards  the  Maharajah  escorted  his 
guest  to  the  Court  of  Delight. 

Two  throne-like  chairs  were  brought  for- 
ward for  the  two  men,  the  Indian  Prince 
and  the  English  officer. 

The  Maharajah  wore  pantaloons  of  crim- 
son silk,  a  coat  of  purple  velvet  embroidered 
in  gold,  and  a  turban  of  yellow  silk  embel- 
lished with  an  aigrette  of  diamonds. 

Around  his  neck  were  strings  of  pearls. 

And  on  his  fingers  were  enormous  rubies. 

The  Maharajah  was  an  ugly  man. 

But  he  looked  magnificent. 

Captain  Lawrence  wore  the  conventional 
evening  clothes  of  an  English  gentleman. 

He  was  a  handsome  man. 

And  he  looked  attractive. 

A  young  boy  with  a  stringed  instrument 
sang  two  songs  for  them. 

One  was  a  song  of  joy. 

And  one  was  a  song  of  sorrow. 

An  old  man  with  a  black  cloth  did  some 
tricks  for  them. 

First  he  made  various  objects  appear  out 
of  the  cloth. 

And  then  he  made  various  objects  dis- 
appear into  it. 

[35] 


Finally,  to  the  beating  of  tom-toms,  and 
the  lilting  of  pipes,  Lotus  Flower  was 
brought  forward  for  her  part  of  the  per- 
formance. 

She  bowed  before  the  Maharajah,  but  she 
almost  forgot  to  look  at  him. 

Then  she  looked  at  Captain  Lawrence,  but 
she  almost  forgot  to  bow  to  him. 

The  Maharajah  looked  at  Lotus  Flower 
and  he  smiled. 

Captain  Lawrence  looked  at  Lotus  Flower 
and  he  did  not  smile. 

He  was  too  much  interested  in  her  to  re- 
member to  smile. 

Just  as  she  was  too  much  interested  in 
him  to  remember  to  bow. 

Once  more  she  felt  that  he  was  looking 
in,  in,  in — to  her  soul. 

And  once  more  she  felt  that  her  soul  was 
looking  out,  out,  out — to  him. 

"Lotus  Flower,"  said  the  Maharajah, 
"you  must  dance  your  best  to-night!" 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Lotus  Flower. 

"To-morrow  our  guest  departs,"  said  the 
Maharajah. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Lotus  Flower. 

"He  returns  to  England — where  he  is  go- 
ing to  be  married,"  said  the  Maharajah. 
[36] 


Attfc 


Lotus  Flower  stood  and  stared. 

Her  heart  stopped  beating. 

She  gasped  for  breath. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Lotus  Flower. 

She  had  known  that  the  English  officer 
was  departing  the  next  day. 

But  she  had  not  known  that  he  was  going 
to  leave  India. 

She  had  not  known  that  he  was  going 
back  to  England. 

And  she  had  not  known  that  he — was  go- 
ing to  be  married. 

Somehow,   she   had   imagined,    from   his 
eyes,  that  he  was  going  to  stay  in  India. 

Somehow,   she   had   imagined,    from   his 
eyes,  that  she  was  going  to  see  him  again. 

Somehow,  she  had  imagined,   from  his 
eyes,  that  he — and  she — 

But  now,  all  her  hopes  had  been  shat- 
tered. 

All  her  dreams  had  been  dispelled. 

There  was  nothing  for  her  to  do — but  to 
dance! 

And  so  she  began. 

She  waved  her  arms. 

Her  bracelets  jingled. 

She  stamped  her  feet. 

Her  anklets  jangled. 
[37] 


The  tom-toms  began  to  throb. 

The  pipes  began  to  lilt. 

And  Lotus  Flower  started  to  perform  the 
Dance  of  the  Cobra. 

She  swayed  from  side  to  side. 

She  darted  to  and  fro. 

She  floated  backwards  and  forwards. 

Slowly  at  first 

Then  faster  and  faster. 

Finally  she  stopped. 

"Is  that  the  end  of  the  Dance  of  the 
Cobra?"  asked  Captain  Lawrence. 

"No,"  said  the  Maharajah,  "that  is  only 
the  beginning." 

Lotus  Flower  had  been  nerving  herself 
for  the  ordeal. 

She  had  been  working  herself  up  for  the 
performance. 

And  now  it  began  in  earnest. 

A  strong  eunuch  stood  guard  over  a  big 
basket. 

Lotus  Flower  stooped  down,  lifted  the 
cover,  thrust  in  her  arms,  and  drew  out  a 
large  cobra. 

The  cobra  wriggled  and  writhed  in  her 
clutch. 

The  tom-toms  started  again. 

And  the  pipes. 

[38] 


Attft  (JDttpr 


At  first,  Lotus  Flower  held  the  cobra  far 
from  her. 

Then  a  little  closer. 

And  at  last,  she  placed  it  upon  her  body. 

As  she  danced  around,  the  cobra  twined 
about  her. 

It  crawled  in  and  out  among  the  soft  folds 
of  her  gauzy  drapery. 

It  disarranged  the  coverings  of  her  shoul- 
ders. 

And  of  her  breast 

And  of  her  waist. 

Thus  it  was  that  Lotus  Flower  postured 
and  posed  before  the  Maharajah  and  his 
guest,  her  naked  body  gleaming  under  the 
light  of  the  lamps,  and  the  great  cruel  cobra 
crawling  over  her  lithe  young  limbs. 

The  cobra  twined  about  her  shoulders. 

Lotus  Flower  darted  here  and  there. 

The  cobra  twisted  about  her  thighs. 

Lotus  Flower  rushed  hither  and  thither. 

She  seemed  fairly  to  fly. 

The  notes  of  the  music  accompanied  her. 

And  then,  suddenly,  the  music  ceased,  and 
two  big  eunuchs  sprang  forward  to  tear  the 
cobra  from  her  body. 

That  was  part  of  the  performance. 

The  climax  had  come. 
[39] 


But — what  was  this  ? 

Had  the  dancer  gone  mad? 

Lotus  Flower  fought  off  the  eunuchs. 

She  clung  to  the  cobra. 

It  pressed  tightly  about  her  waist. 

But  Lotus  Flower  pressed  it  tighter  still. 

The  eunuchs  fought  with  her. 

But  Lotus  Flower  fought  against  them. 

The  Maharajah  sprang  up  from  his  chair. 

And  Captain  Lawrence  sprang  up  from 
his. 

They  rushed  towards  the  unfortunate 
dancer,  to  assist  the  eunuchs  in  attempting 
to  save  her. 

But  it  was  too  late. 

Lotus  Flower  lay  on  the  ground. 

The  cobra  was  coiled  about  her  in  a  grip 
of  steel. 

A  grip  of  steel  that  would  crush  the  life 
out  of  any  human  being. 

Lotus  Flower,  the  favorite  dancing  girl 
of  the  Maharajah,  was  dead 

Two  days  later  Captain  Esme  Lawrence 
left  India,  and  went  back  to  England — to 
be  married. 

[40] 


THE  PAINTED  MRS.  PERRY 


Attb 


THE  PAINTED  MRS.  PERRY 


HE  was  twenty. 
She  was  thirty-five. 
There  was  fifteen  years  difference 
between  them. 

And  a  great  deal  more. 

Gordon  was  simple,  even  for  twenty. 

Mrs.  Perry  was  complex,  even  for  thirty- 
five. 

He  didn't  know  anything. 

She  knew  everything. 

They  were  both  good-looking. 

He    was    good-looking,    and    he    looked 
good. 

She   was   good-looking,    and   she   looked 
bad.  * 

He  had  a  healthy  face,  and  a  wholesome 
manner. 

She  had  an  unhealthy  face,  and  an  un- 
wholesome manner. 

He  was  absolutely  natural. 

She  was  absolutely  artificial. 
[43] 


Until  Gordon  met  Mrs.  Perry,  he  had  only 
known  girls,  school  girls. 

He  had  never  known  a  woman,  a  woman- 
of-thex-world. 

Gordon  had  a  man-friend. 

The  man- friend  had  a  woman- friend. 

The  woman-friend  was  Mrs.  Perry. 

Gordon  was  at  a  cafe  with  the  man. 

The  woman  was  there  with  another  man. 

Gordon  and  the  woman  were  introduced. 

They    came,    they    saw,    and    they    con- 
quered. 

He  conquered  her. 

And  she  conquered  him. 

He  had  never  seen  anything  quite  so  won- 
derful as  this  woman. 

She  fascinated  him. 

And  she  had  never  seen  anything  quite 
so  wonderful  as  this  boy. 

He  fascinated  her. 

She  invited  him  to  call  on  her. 

He  accepted  the  invitation. 

And  he  called. 

She  had  suggested  nine  P.  M. 

So  at  nine  P.  M.  he  came. 

Mrs.  Perry  lived  in  her  own  house. 

Gordon  was  ushered  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

[44] 


AttDi 


The  walls  were  hung  with  pink  silken 
brocade. 

The  floor  was  covered  with  pink  silken 
rugs. 

The  lamps  were  shaded  with  pink  silken 
screens. 

Pink  roses  were  in  vases  and  bowls  on  the 
gilded  mantel-piece,  and  on  the  gilded 
tables. 

The  gilded  furniture  was  upholstered  in 
pink  brocade. 

And  Mrs.  Perry  was  dressed  in  black. 

She  wore  a  long  clinging  robe,  low  at  the 
neck,  and  short  at  the  sleeves. 

In  her  ears,  on  her  breast,  and  on  her 
fingers,  were  big  barbaric  looking  emer- 
alds. 

On  her  face  was  a  quantity  of  make-up. 

Her  cheeks  were  painted  white,  her  lids 
were  painted  blue,  and  her  lips  were  painted 
red. 

Her  hair  was  dyed  the  color  of  burnished 
copper,  and  was  worn  in  a  weirdly  wonder- 
ful way. 

Mrs.  Perry  looked  at  Gordon. 

Gordon  looked  at  Mrs.  Perry. 

She  smiled. 

He  blushed. 

[45] 


She  motioned  to  him  to  be  seated — in  a 
chair  beside  a  sofa. 

He  took  the  chair — after  she  had  taken 
the  sofa. 

He  fidgetted  with  his  hands. 

His  hands  were  big  and  strong. 

She  fidgetted  with  her  feet. 

Her  feet  were  small  and  shapely. 

"I  didn't  know  if  you  would  come  or  not," 
said  Mrs.  Perry. 

"But  you  invited  me  to!"  said  Gordon. 

"I  know  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Perry. 

"And  I  said  that  I  would,"  said  Gordon. 

"I  know  that  too,"  said  Mrs.  Perry. 

"Then  why  wouldn't  I  come?"  said  Gor- 
don. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Perry,  "but  I 
thought  that  you  might  be — afraid." 

"Afraid  of — what?"  said  Gordon. 

"Afraid  of — me,"  said  Mrs.  Perry. 

"Of  you?"  said  Gordon. 

"Or  of — yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Perry. 

"Of  myself?"  said  Gordon. 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Perry,  "you  are  so  good- 
looking." 

Gordon  blushed. 

"And  so  am  I !"  said  Mrs.  Perry. 

Gordon  stammered. 
[46] 


"Don't  you  think  I  am?"  said  Mrs. 
Perry. 

"Of  course  I  do!"  said  Gordon. 

"And  don't  you  know  that  you  are?"  said 
Mrs.  Perry. 

"Of  course  I  don't!"  said  Gordon. 

"Well,  I  doT  said  Mrs.  Perry,  "and  you 
are!" 

She  put  her  feet  up  on  the  sofa,  so  that 
she  was  reclining  at  full  length  beside  him. 

He  moved  his  chair  away. 

"Don't  go  further!"  said  Mrs.  Perry, 
"but  come  nearer !" 

He  came  nearer. 

"That's  a  good  boy!"  said  Mrs.  Perry,  "a 
very  good  boy!" 

He  looked  shy. 

She  looked  sly. 

"Do  you  object  to  my  smoking?"  said  Mrs. 
Perry. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Gordon. 

He  opened  his  case. 

She  took  a  cigarette. 

He  lighted  it  for  her. 

"Since  you  have  been  obliging  enough  to 
let  me  have  a  cigarette,"  said  Mrs.  Perry, 
"I  will  be  obliging  enough  to  let  you  have 
a— kiss!" 

[47] 


iltmtt 


He  looked  amazed. 

She  looked  amused. 

He  hesitated. 

She  held  up  her  face. 

He  kissed  her — on  the  mouth 

"And  now  we  are  friends!"  said  Mrs. 
Perry,  "but  we  must  be  more  intimate 
friends  yet.  We  must  know  one  another 
better.  Much  better.  Very  much  better. 
Mustn't  we?" 

"Yes,"  said  Gordon. 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  him 
on  the  knee. 

He  shrank  away  from  her. 

She  blew  a  puff  of  smoke  into  his  face. 

"You  must  tell  me  all  about  yourself," 
said  Mrs.  Perry. 

And  he  did — under  her  clever  manipula- 
tion. 

"And  I  must  tell  you  all  about  myself," 
said  Mrs.  Perry. 

But  she  did  not — again  under  her  clever 
manipulation. 

When  Gordon  got  up  to  go,  the  clock  was 
chiming  twelve  o'clock  at  night. 

And  when  Gordon  finally  did  go,  the  clock 
was  chiming  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

[48] 


They  had  been  together   for  six  hours. 


Mrs.  Perry  asked  Gordon  to  come  again. 

He  said  that  he  would. 

And  he  did. 

The  next  night. 

And  the  next. 

And  the  next. 

And  after  that,  he  came  every  night — 
for  two  weeks. 

He  didn't  go  anywhere  else. 

He  didn't  want  to  go  anywhere  else. 

First,  Gordon  and  Mrs.  Perry  left  the 
pink  drawing-room  for  the  yellow  sitting- 
room. 

And  then,  they  left  the  yellow  sitting- 
room  for  the  lavender  boudoir. 

It  was  in  the  lavender  boudoir  one  even- 
ing, at  the  end  of  the  two  weeks,  while  they 
were  smoking  perfumed  cigarettes,  and  sip- 
ping absinthe,  Mrs.  Perry  made  a  strange 
and  startling  statement. 

"Gordon,"  said  Mrs.  Perry,  "you  must 
never  come  to  see  me  again !" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Gordon. 

"I  mean  that  you  are  a  boy  with  a  fu- 
ture," said  Mrs.  Perry,  "and  I  am  a  woman 
with  a  past." 

[49] 


4Haim 


"Oh,  don't  talk  like  that!"  said  Gordon. 

"But  I  must  talk  like  that!"  said  Mrs. 
Perry,  "you  have  a  life  before  you,  I  have 
a  life  behind  me.  We  are  not  equally 
matched." 

"We  are!"  said  Gordon. 

"It  isn't  fair,"  said  Mrs.  Perry. 

"It  is!"  said  Gordon. 

"We  can't  be  friends,"  said  Mrs.  Perry. 

"We  can,"  said  Gordon. 

"No — we  can't,"  said  Mrs.  Perry,  "and 
we— sha'n't!" 

"But  why — why?"  said  Gordon. 

"Because  you  are  a  dear  sweet  boy,"  said 
Mrs.  Perry,  "and  because  I — I  have  got  a 
painted  face!" 

"I  love  you,"  said  Gordon. 

"I  have  got  a  painted  face,"  repeated  Mrs. 
Perry. 

"I  love  you,"  repeated  Gordon. 

"Do  you  love  me — in  spite  of  my  painted 
face?"  whispered  Mrs.  Perry. 

"No,  I  love  you — on  account  of  it!"  whis- 
pered Gordon. 

And  it  was  so. 

And  she  knew  it. 

The  surprise  was — that  he  knew  it. 

But  Gordon  had  learned  a  lot — in  two 

weeks 

[50] 


KARA  THE  FAITHFUL 


AttJi 


KARA  THE  FAITHFUL 


WHEN  the  Rajah  of  Jurma  was 
twenty-eight  years  of  age,  he  be- 
lieved himself  to  be  happy. 

But  when  the  Rajah  of  Jurma  was  twenty- 
nine  years  of  age,  he  knew  himself  to  be 
happy. 

At  twenty-eight,  the  Rajah  had  a  noble 
title  and  a  splendid  fortune. 

But  at  twenty-nine  the  Rajah  had  also — 
a  beautiful  wife. 

So  what  more  could  mortal  man  desire? 

The  Rajah  had  been  brought  up  by  a  wise 
father. 

He  had  been  taught  self-restraint. 

And  he  had  become  a  virtuous  man. 

The  Ranee  had  been  brought  up  by  a 
foolish  mother. 

She  had  been  taught  self-indulgence. 

And  she  had  become  a  vicious  woman. 

The  Rajah  was  kind  and  considerate. 

The  Ranee  was  unkind  and  inconsider- 
ate. 

[53] 


fltatt 


But  the  Ranee  had  a  beautiful  face. 

And  the  Rajah  had  a  bountiful  fortune. 

So  when  he  had  sought  her  hand  in  mar- 
riage, she  had  readily  consented. 

And  the  Rajah  of  Jurma  deemed  himself 
blessed. 

In  the  morning  she  would  walk  with  him. 

And  he  would  smile  with  satisfaction. 

In  the  afternoon  she  would  talk  with  him. 

And  he  would  laugh  with  happiness. 

In  the  evening  she  would  lie  in  his  arms. 

And  he  would  weep  with  ecstasy. 

He  provided  her  with  silken  robes  and 
with  jeweled  ornaments. 

And  she  had  a  whole  retinue  of  servants 
to  wait  upon  her. 

She  had  men  to  hold  umbrellas  over  her 
when  she  went  out. 

She  had  men  to  sway  fans  above  her  when 
she  stayed  in. 

And  she  had  women  to  dress  her  and  to 
undress  her,  and  to  do  her  bidding  through- 
out the  day  and  throughout  the  night. 

These,  and  more,  had  the  Ranee. 

But  the  Rajah  had — Kara. 

And  the  Ranee  was — jealous. 

And  something — else. 

[54]  ,,      ,,*, 


Kara  was  the  personal  attendant  of  the 
Rajah. 

He  was  five  years  younger  than  his  mas- 
ter. 

And  five  times  handsomer. 

At  least  he  seemed  so — to  the  Ranee. 

Kara  had  been  in  the  service  of  the  Rajah 
for  seven  years. 

And  he  was  highly  thought  of. 

He  had  proved  himself  worthy  of  the  con- 
fidence that  had  been  placed  in  him. 

He  had  accompanied  his  master  into  dan- 
ger. 

He  had  served  him  in  health. 

And  he  had  nursed  him  in  sickness. 

So  all  this  meant  a  great  deal  to  the  Ra- 
jah. 

(The  Rajah  had  been  brought  up  by  a 
wise  father.) 

But  all  this  meant  nothing  whatever  to 
the  Ranee. 

(The  Ranee  had  been  brought  up  by  a 
foolish  mother. ) 

The  Rajah  always  saw  in  Kara  a  faithful 
servant. 

The  Ranee  only  saw  in  Kara — a  hand- 
some man 

[55] 


The  Rajah  had  been  married  for  almost  a 
year. 

During  that  time  he  had  never  been  sep- 
arated from  his  wife  for  a  single  day. 

But  then  he  was  summoned  to  the  Vice- 
regal palace,  to  consult  with  the  Viceroy  on 
matters  connected  with  the  government  of 
the  Province  of  Jurma. 

He  was  to  be  gone  for  six  days. 

And  so  he  was  sad. 

He  held  his  wife  in  his  arms. 

She  lay  there  limp. 

He  kissed  her  on  the  mouth. 

She  felt  no  thrill. 

He  tore  himself  away. 

She  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 

The  Rajah  left  the  palace  with  tears  in 
his  eyes. 

The  Ranee  went  to  her  apartments  with 
smiles  on  her  lips. 

That  night  the  Ranee  sent  for  Kara,  the 
personal  attendant  of  her  husband. 

"Why  did  you  not  go  with  your  master?" 
said  the  Ranee. 

"It  was  not  the  wish  of  my  lord,"  said 
Kara. 

[56] 


"And  what  was  the  wish  of  your  lord?" 
said  the  Ranee. 

"That  I  should  remain  with  my  lady,"  said 
Kara. 

"And  what  were  you  to  do  for  me?"  said 
the  Ranee. 

"I  was  to  guard  you,"  said  Kara. 

"Guard  me — from  what?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"From — danger,"  said  Kara. 

"The  only  danger  that  I  fear  is — loneli- 
ness!" said  the  Ranee. 

The  Ranee  looked  in  Kara's  eyes. 

Kara  looked  on  the  ground. 

"It  was  at  my  wish  that  your  master  bade 
you  stay,"  said  the  Ranee. 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"Did  you  know  that?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"No,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

-"Well,  what  do  you  say  now  that  you  do 
know  it?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I  thank  you,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"You  thank   me — for   what?"    said   the 
Ranee. 

"For  your  trust,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"I  do  not  call  it — trust,"  said  the  Ranee. 

Kara  was  silent. 

"I  call  it — esteem,"  said  the  Ranee. 
[57] 


Still  Kara  was  silent. 

"I  admire  you,"  said  the  Ranee. 

Why  did  he  not  speak  to  her? 

"And  I— shall  be— lonely!"  said  the 
Ranee. 

Why  did  he  not  look  at  her? 

"Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do  for  my 
lady,"  said  Kara. 

His  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  servant. 

"No,  not  to-night!"  said  the  Ranee. 

Her  voice  was  the  voice  of  the  mistress 


The  next  night  the  Ranee  sent  for  Kara 
a  second  time. 

"How  long  have  you  been  with  your  mas- 
ter?" said  the  Ranee. 

"Seven  years,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"You  have  been  in  his  personal  service 
throughout  that  time?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"And  you  have  also  been  in  his  confi- 
dence?" said  the  Ranee. 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"Then  be  in  mine  also,"  said  the  Ranee. 

Kara  looked  surprised. 

"And  let  me  be  in  yours,"  said  the  Ranee. 

Kara  looked  bewildered. 
[58] 


Attfc 


"Your  master  has  had  adventures?"  said 
the  Ranee. 

"Many,  my  lady/'  said  Kara. 

"Adventures  with  men?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"And  adventures  with — women  ?"  said  the 
Ranee. 

"No,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"Oh,  he  must  have!"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I  do  not  know,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"Try  to  recollect!"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I  cannot,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"You  refuse  to  tell  me?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I  have  nothing  to  tell,  my  lady,"  said 
Kara. 

"Nothing  to  tell — after  seven  years !"  said 
the  Ranee. 

"My  duty  has  been  to  serve  him,"  said 
Kara. 

"And  your  duty  is  now  to  amuse  me!" 
said  the  Ranee. 

"I  am  sorry,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"So  am  I !"  said  the  Ranee. 

"Is  there  anything  more,  my  lady?"  said 
Kara. 

"No — you  may  go!"  said  the  Ranee.  .  . 

[59] 


The  next  night  the  Ranee  sent  for  Kara 
a  third  time. 

Kara  stood  at  the  door. 

"Come  here !"  said  the  Ranee. 

Kara  came  into  the  room. 

"Here  before  me !"  said  the  Ranee. 

Kara  approached  her. 

"Here  beside  me!"  said  the  Ranee. 

Kara  hesitated. 

The  Ranee  spang  to  her  feet. 

She  flung  herself  upon  his  breast. 

She  curled  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

She  kissed  him  on  the  mouth. 

"I  love  you !"  whispered  the  Ranee. 

He  resisted  her. 

He  repulsed  her. 

He  pushed  her  away  from  him. 

"My  lady!"  cried  Kara.    "I—" 

"You— what?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I — must — go!"  said  Kara. 

"Why?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I  am  a  servant,"  said  Kara. 

"I  have  forgotten  that !"  said  the  Ranee. 

"But  I  have  not!"  said  Kara. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I  am  the  servant  of  the  Rajah — your 
husband!"  said  Kara. 

"  What  of  that?"  said  the  Ranee. 
[60] 


"I  serve — him!"  said  Kara. 

"And  not — me?"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I  serve — him!"  repeated  Kara. 

"You  must  serve  me  too !"  said  the  Ranee. 

"In  what  way,  my  lady?"  said  Kara. 

"You  must — love  me !"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I — cannot!"  said  Kara. 

"You — must !"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I— will  not!"  said  Kara. 

She  flung  her  arms  around  him  again. 

And  again  he  pushed  her  away  from  him. 

"He  will  never  know!"  whispered  the 
Ranee. 

"I  cannot  stay!"  said  Kara. 

"I  will  give  you  money!"  said  the  Ranee. 

"I  must  go !"  said  Kara. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  doing?"  said 
the  Ranee. 

"I  know,  my  lady !"  said  Kara. 

"And  do  you  know  what  /  can  do?"  said 
the  Ranee. 

"I  know  that  too,  my  lady !"  said  Kara. 

"Very  well,  then!"  said  the  Ranee;  "you 
need  not  wait!  You  may  go!  But  you 
shall  go — to  the  dungeon !" 

He  stood  silent. 

She  hesitated. 

"Do  you  hear?"  said  the  Ranee. 
[61] 


"I  hear,  my  lady,"  said  Kara. 

"Which  do  you  choose,"  said  the  Ranee; 
"the  dungeon,  and  chains,  or  gold,  and 
me?" 

"I  am  the  Rajah's  servant/'  said  Kara, 
"but  it  is  for  the  Ranee  to  put  me  in  chains, 
— if  she  sees  fit  to  do  so!" 

"And  by  heaven,  I  do  see  fit  to  do  so!" 
said  the  Ranee. 

She  struck  a  gong. 

A  servant  entered. 

"Call  the  guard"!"  said  the  Ranee. 

The  servant  clapped  his  hands. 

Two  guardsmen  appeared. 

"This  man  has  made  an  attack  upon 
me!"  said  the  Ranee.  "Put  him  in  chains, 
and  throw  him  into  the  dungeon — until  the 
Rajah  returns !" 

The  guard  seized  upon  Kara,  and  led 
him  out  of  the  apartment  of  the  Ranee. 

And  the  Ranee,  left  to  the  women  who 
came  hurrying  to  her  assistance,  gave  way 
to  a  fit  of  rage. 

"The  dog,  the  dog,  the  dog!"  cried  the 
Ranee. 

And,  in  her  fury,  she  tore  her  veil  to 
shreds. 

[62] 


This  veil  was,  in  the  East,  the  symbol  of 
modesty 

Three  days  later,  the  Rajah  of  Jurma  re- 
turned to  his  palace. 

He  went  at  once  to  the  apartment  of  the 
Ranee. 

And  the  Ranee  at  once  informed  him  of 
the  attack  made  upon  her  by  Kara,  his  ser- 
vant. 

"It  seems  incredible!"  cried  the  Rajah. 

"But  it  is  true!"  cried  the  Ranee. 

"What  did  he  do?"  said  the  Rajah. 

"As  soon  as  you  went  away,"  said  the 
Ranee,  "in  fact,  the  very  first  night  you 
were  gone,  he  came  to  me  and  said  that  you 
had  left  him  to  guard  me,  and  that  he  meant 
to  guard  me  from — loneliness !  I  dismissed 
him.  The  next  night  he  came  a  second  time, 
and  wanted  to  tell  me  of  your  adventures — 
with  women !  I  dismissed  him  again.  And 
then  the  next  night  he  came  a  third  time, 
and  sprang  upon  me,  and  seized  me  in  his 
arms,  and — " 

"He  must  be  mad !"  cried  the  Rajah. 

"Not  at  all!"  cried  the  Ranee. 

"Where  is  he  now  ?"  said  the  Rajah. 
[63] 


"He  is  in  the  dungeon!"  said  the  Ranee. 

"What  shall  we  do  with  him?"  said  the 
Rajah. 

"He  must  be  punished!"  said  the  Ranee. 

"Of  course!"  said  the  Rajah. 

"He  should  be  whipped!"  said  the  Ranee. 

"Very  well,"  said  the  Rajah. 

"And  at  once!"  said  the  Ranee. 

"Without  delay!"  said  the  Rajah. 

"Have  him  brought  here!"  said  the 
Ranee. 

The  Rajah  gave  the  order  to  a  servant 
and  in  a  short  time  Kara  was  brought  into 
the  room,  loaded  with  chains,  and  guarded 
by  six  men. 

Kara  stood  before  the  Rajah  and  the 
Ranee. 

His  face  was  wan. 

His  hair  was  wild. 

But  his  eyes — 

His  eyes  were  like  the  eyes  of  a  faithful 
dog  that  has  tried  to  lick  the  hand  of  its 
master,  and  has  been  rewarded  with  a  kick. 

Kara  did  not  look  at  the  Ranee. 

He  only  looked  at  the  Rajah. 

"Kara,  what  thing  is  this  that  I  hear — " 
began  the  Rajah. 

"Let  him  be  whipped !"  said  the  Ranee. 
[64] 


"Kara,  what  demon  possessed  you  that 
you  should — "  began  the  Rajah. 

"Let  him  be  whipped!"  cried  the  Ranee. 

"Kara — after  all  these  years — "  began 
the  Rajah. 

"Shall  I  or  shall  I  not  be  avenged?"  cried 
the  Ranee. 

"Let  him  be  whipped!"  said  the  Rajah. 

A  strong  man  stepped  forward. 

He  bore  a  thick  whip. 

And  he  lashed  Kara  across  the  back, 
again,  and  again,  and  again. 

Kara  stood  there,  and  never  made  a  move, 
and  never  uttered  a  sound. 

"You  are  not  hurting  him!"  cried  the 
Ranee.  "You  are  not  trying  to  hurt  him! 
He  does  not  feel  it!  Give  me  the  whip! 
Let  me  punish  him. 

The  Ranee  sprang  up  from  her  couch, 
and  seizing  the  whip  from  the  hands  of  the 
servant,  herself  began  to  brutally  lash  the 
body  of  the  unfortunate  Kara. 

The  flesh  was  ripped  and  torn. 

The  blood  streamed  down  his  limbs. 

But  still  he  made  no  move. 

And  still  he  made  no  sound. 

The  Ranee  stopped. 

She  turned  to  the  Rajah. 
[65] 


"Here,  you  must  whip  him!"  cried  the 
Ranee.  "It  does  not  hurt  him  coming  from 
me!  But  it  may  hurt  him  coming  from 
you!" 

"But  I—"  began  the  Rajah. 

"I  must  be  avenged!"  cried  the  Ranee, 
"and  you  must  avenge  me!" 

The  Rajah  took  the  bloodstained  whip 
from  the  hands  of  the  Ranee. 

He  raised  it  aloft. 

But  Kara  fell  to  the  ground  before  the 
blow  was  struck. 

He  had  fainted. 


[66] 


BETTY  AND  BUDDHA 


Attfc 


BETTY  AND  BUDDHA 


BETTY  was  tired  of  Bob. 
And  Bert. 
And  Reggie. 

So  she  took  up  with  Buddha. 

Bob  was  too  hot. 

Bert  was  too  cold. 

And  Reggie  was  neither  hot  nor  cold — 
merely  lukewarm. 

Men  seemed  all  wrong. 

But  Buddha  seemed  just  right. 

One  need  never  worry  about  him. 

He  could  always  be  relied  upon. 

So  Betty  made  a  fuss  of  him. 

She  got  silver  for  his  garments. 

And  gold  for  his  features. 

And  pearls  for  his  eyes. 

First  she  gave  him  a  shrine. 

Then  she  gave  him  a  corner  of  a  room. 

And  finally  she  gave  him  a  whole  room  to 
himself. 

She  got  oriental  draperies  for  the  wall, 
[69] 


oriental  rugs  for  the  floor,  and  oriental  odds 
and  ends  for  every  nook  and  cranny. 

And,  last  but  not  least,  she  got  oriental 
silks  and  satins  and  jewels — for  herself. 

She  said  that  these  were  for — Buddha. 

But,  be  that  as  it  may,  she  looked  very 
well  in  them. 

And,  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  she  was  well 
aware  of  the  fact. 

Betty  had  never  been  on  the  stage. 

Bnt  she  had  acted — all  her  life. 

She  had  played  the  heroine  in  many  little 
comedies  and  tragedies. 

And  in  this,  her  latest  production — she 
had  Buddha  for  the  hero. 

Betty  was  not  only  a  temperamental  ac- 
tress— she  was  also  an  artistic  stage  man- 
ager. 

She  had  a  wonderful  eye  for  situations 
and  effects. 

She  always  saw  that  the  scenes  were 
properly  set. 

And  she  loved  art  for  art's  sake. 

But  to-day  she  wished  that  she  had  an 
audience  to  view  the  performance — or,  at 
any  rate,  that  she  had  a  few  dramatic  critics 
present. 

It  was  matinee. 

[70] 


Atth 


The  hour  was  four  o'clock. 

Curtains  were  drawn  over  the  windows. 

Candles  were  lighted  in  brackets. 

Incense  was  burning  in  braziers. 

And  Betty  wore  her  Eastern  robes. 

She  was  draped  in  yellow  silk. 

She  was  decked  in  golden  ornaments. 

And  she  was  possessed  of  the  spirit  of 
adoration 

She  sang  to  Buddha. 

A  song  of  praise. 

Her  voice  was  sweet. 

She  danced  for  Buddha. 

A  dance  of  joy. 

Her  steps  were  light. 

She  prayed  for  Buddha. 

A  prayer  of  peace. 

Her  eyes  were  sad. 

"O    Buddha!"    cried    Betty,    ""I    would 
learn  of  thee!    Teach  me  thy  will!" 

She  stood  before  him. 

But  Buddha  made  no  sign. 

"O    Buddha!"    cried    Betty,    "I    do    not 
ask  for  much — only  for  a  little!" 

She  knelt  before  him. 

Still  Buddha  made  no  sign. 

"O  Buddha!"  cried  Betty.     "I  would  be 
at  peace!    At  peace  with  the  world!" 
[71] 


Utan 


She  prostrated  herself  before  him. 
And  still  Buddha  made  no  sign. 
Betty  waited. 
And  waited. 

And  waited 

All  of  a  sudden  there  was  a  sound. 
Betty  started. 
What  could  it  be? 
The  sound  was  repeated. 
It  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 
Betty  heaved  a  sigh. 
She  rose  to  her  feet. 
Come  in !"  said  Betty. 
A  servant  entered  the  room. 
"What  is  it?"  said  Betty. 
"Mr.  Billy  is  here,"  said  the  servant. 
"Show  him  in !"  said  Betty. 
Her  face  was  a  study. 
The  servant  left  the  room. 
Betty  went  to  a  glass. 
She  inspected  herself. 
She  was  satisfied  with  the  reflection. 
She  had  cause  to  be. 
A  man  entered  the  room. 
This  was  "Mr.  Billy." 
"Hello,  Betty!"  said  Billy. 
"Hello,  Billy!"  said  Betty. 
[72] 


"Am  I  disturbing  you?"  said  Billy. 

"Not  at  all!"  said  Betty. 

"Would  you  rather  I  went  away?"  said 
Billy. 

"On  the  contrary!"  said  Betty. 

She  curled  herself  on  her  divan  under  a 
canopy. 

He  perched  himself  on  a  stool  beside  her. 

She  rattled  her  bracelets. 

Ke  stroked  his  chin. 

"You  look  very  charming,"  said  Billy. 

"I  feel  very  happy,"  said  Betty. 

"May  I  ask  what  you  have  been  doing?" 
said  Billy. 

"You  may,"  said  Betty. 

"And  will  you  tell  me?"  said  Billy. 

"I  will,"  said  Betty. 

"Well?"  said  Billy. 

"I  have  been  worshipping  Buddha!"  said 
Betty. 

"Not  really?"  said  Billy. 

"Yes  really!"  said  Betty. 

"Do  you  believe  in  him?"  said  Billy. 

"Of  course!"  said  Betty. 

"I  don't!"  said  Billy. 

"You   don't   believe   in   anything,"   said 
Betty. 

[73] 


Utatt 


"Oh,  yes,  I  do,"  said  Billy. 

"Well,   what   do   you   believe   in?"    said 
Betty. 

"I  believe  in  —  you!"  said  Billy. 

"Be  serious  !"  said  Betty. 

"I  am!"  said  Billy. 

"But  Buddha  is  a  god."  said  Betty. 

"And  you  are  a  goddess,"  said  Billy. 

"But  he  answers  my  prayers,"  said  Betty. 

"  And  you  answer  mine,"  said  Billy. 

"Do  I?"  said  Betty. 

"I  hope  so!"  said  Billy. 

"What  do  you  pray  for?"  said  Betty. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?"  said  Billy. 

"I've  asked  you  to,"  said  Betty. 

"I  pray  for  love!"  said  Billy. 

"Ah!"  said  Betty. 

"For  your  love,"  said  Billy. 

"Oh!"  said  Betty. 

"Do  you  answer  my  prayer?"  said  Billy. 

"I—  don't—  know  !"  said  Betty. 

He  leaned  towards  her. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms. 

And  he  breathed  his  prayer  —  with  a  kiss. 

She  shrank  from  him. 

She  hid  her  face. 

And  then  she  answered  his  prayer  —  and 
his  kiss  ...... 

[74] 


AttJi 


Her  head,  with  its  glittering  ornaments, 
rested  on  his  shoulder. 

Her  arms,  with  their  jingling  bangles, 
twined  around  his  neck. 

And  her  mouth,  with  its  maddening  ca- 
ress, clung  to  his. 

The  candles  cast  a  soft  glow  over  them. 

The  incense  sent  a  sweet  odor  around 
them. 

And  Buddha  kept  a  watchful  eye  upon 
them 

Billy  was  about  to  kiss  her  again. 

But  Betty  released  herself  from  his  em- 
brace. 

She  got  up. 

She  walked  over  t6  the  shrine. 
And  she  turned  Buddha  around — so  that 
he  could  not  see. 

Then  she  went  back  to  Billy — and  an- 
swered his  prayer,  and  his  kiss — all  over 
again 

In  the  beginning,  we  stated  that  Betty  was 
tired  of  Bob. 

And  Bert. 

And  Reggie. 

And,  in  the  end,  we  will  state  that  Betty 
was  tired  of  Buddha,  too. 
[75] 


tfbim 


Buddha  was  only  a  god. 

But  Betty  was  not  tired  of  Billy. 

Billy  was — a  man ! 


[76] 


MRS.  PEPPER  IN  PARIS 


MRS.  PEPPER  IN  PARIS 


MRS.  PEPPER  went  to  Paris. 
She  went  alone. 
And  so  she  was — lonely. 

Why  had  she  ever  left  New  York? 

Why  had  she  ever  wanted  to  leave  New 
York? 

Why  had  she  ever  wanted  to  leave  New 
York — alone  ? 

Tom  had  offered  to  go  with  her. 

And  so  had  Dick. 

And  so  had  Harry. 

But  she  had  wanted  to  be  alone. 

And  she  got  what  she  wanted. 

And  a  great  deal  more. 

Good  Lord ! 

What  a  place! 

What  a  disgusting  place ! 

Nothing  to  see! 

Nowhere  to  go! 

Nothing  to  do! 

Who  thought  that  Pans  was  gay? 

Mrs.  Pepper  didn't ! 
[79] 


She  thought  that  it  was  miserable. 

Who  thought  that  French  women  were 
stylish  ? 

Mrs.  Pepper  didn't! 

She  thought  that  they  were  frumps ! 

Who  thought  that  French  men  were  po- 
lite? 

Mrs.  Pepper  didn't! 

She  thought  that  they  were  boors ! 

So  she  wrote  to  Tom,  in  New  York. 

And  to  Dick,  in  New  York. 

And  to  Harry,  in  New  York. 

And  she  said,  "I  hate  Paris!" 

In  the  morning,  she  walked — alone. 

Mile  after  mile. 

In  the  afternoon,  she  drove — alone. 

Hour  after  hour. 

In  the  evening,  she  dined — alone. 

Course  after  course. 

But  what  was  the  good  of  anything? 

Nothing! 

She  met  a  Count 

But  he  was  a  Frenchman. 

And  a  puppet. 

She  met  a  Baron: 

But  he  was  a  Russian. 

And  a  savage. 

Then  she  met — a  Man. 
[80] 


He  was  an  American. 
And  a  gentleman. 

She  met  him  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 
It  was  in  the  morning. 
She  was  walking. 
So  was  he. 
She  was  walking  up. 
He  was  walking  down. 
They  met. 
He  looked  at  her. 
She  looked  at  him. 
They  passed. 
He  looked  around. 
So  did  she. 
She  walked  on. 
He  followed  her. 

She  knew  when  he  was  behind  her. 
She  knew  when  he  was  beside  her. 
And  then  he  spoke. 
"I  beg  your  pardon !"  said  the  Man. 
"What  is  it?"  said  the  Woman. 
"Please  do  not  misunderstand  me/'  said 
the  Man. 

"I  will  try  not  to,"  said  the  Woman. 
"I  am  an  American,"  said  the  Man. 
"Yes,"  said  the  Woman. 
"I  am  here  alone,"  said  the  Man. 
"Well?"  said  the  Woman. 
[81] 


"And  I  am — lonely,"  said  the  Man. 

"What  has  this  to  do  with  me?"  said  the 
Woman. 

"That  is  what  I  want  to  know,"  said  the 
Man. 

"Indeed?"  said  the  Woman. 

"You  are  an  American,"  said  the  Man. 

"Yes,"  said  the  Woman. 

"You  are  here  alone/'  said  the  Man. 

"I  am,"  said  the  Woman. 

"And  you  are — lonely,"  said  the  Man. 

"I  am — not,"  said  the  Woman. 

"Oh,  I  thought  you  were !"  said  the  Man. 

"Well,  you  have  made  a  mistake!"  said 
the  Woman. 

"You  have  misunderstood  me!"  said  the 
Man. 

"No,"  said  the  Woman,  "you  have  mis- 
understood me!" 

She  walked  away. 

He  stood  still. 

*         *         *         *         #         * 

That  afternoon,  when  she  drove,  she  saw 
the  Man  and  he  saw  her. 

That  night,  when  she  dined,  she  saw  the 
Man  and  he  saw  her. 

The  next  morning,  when  she  walked,  she 
saw  the  Man  and  he  saw  her. 
[82] 


Attfc 


And    so    it    went — morning,    noon    and 
night. 

Day  after  day. 
He  never  spoke. 
He  never  made  a  sign. 
And  neither  did  she. 

But  he  was  always — there. 

*  *        *         *        *        # 

Now  he  was  a  Man. 
And  she  was  a  Woman. 
He  was  an  American. 
And  so  was  she. 

So  at  last — one  evening,  in  the  foyer  of 
the  hotel,  she  bowed  to  him. 
He  came  over  to  her. 
She  held  out  her  hand. 
He  took  it. 

He  looked  into  her  eyes. 
She  looked  into  his. 
"You  are  lonely !"  said  the  Man. 

"No,"  said  the  Woman,  "not  any  more!" 

*  *         *         #         *         * 

Mrs.  Pepper  wrote  to  Tom,  in  New  York. 
And  to  Dick,  in  New  York. 
And  to  Harry,  in  New  York. 
And  she  said,  "I  love  Paris !" 


[83] 


MOON-MADNESS 


Attft  ©r  Jfatttefra 


MOON-MADNESS 


IT  was  noontime. 
Noontime  in  Bombay. 
Nana  Lalla  fared  forth  through  the 
town. 

The  streets  were  narrow  and  winding. 

They  were  lined  with  shops. 

Goldsmiths  and  silversmiths. 

Fruit-shops  and  sweet-shops. 

Merchants  and  money  changers. 

Before  these  booths  people  stopped  and 
stared. 

Bargained  and  bartered. 

Went  in,  or  went  on. 

Great  throngs  tramped  up  and  down. 

To  and  fro. 

Shoulder  to  shoulder. 

Some  in  flowing  robes. 

Some  in  scanty  rags. 

Dogs  trotted  at  one's  side. 

Bullocks  pushed  at  one's  back. 

And  all  the  time  the  sun  shone  in  the  sky. 

Shone  like  a  ball  of  fire. 
|[87] 


ISfcmt  flaittras 


It   burned    the    world   with    its   blazing 
beams. 

Nana  Lalla  hated  the  day. 
And  she  loathed  the  sun. 
She  did  not  look  to  the  left. 
Nor  to  the  right. 
She  looked  straight  before  her. 
And  she  went  her  way. 

It  was  midnight. 

Midnight  in  Bombay. 

Nana  Lalla  was  in  her  room. 

She  lay  on  her  couch. 

Her  eyes  were  open. 

But  she  was  dreaming. 

Dreaming  of  sweet-smelling  flowers. 

And  soft-splashing  fountains. 

And  bright-beaming  eyes. 

Of  such  things  the  poets  prated. 

Of  such  things  the  singers  sang. 

And   Nana   Lalla   had   read   the   poets' 
rhymes. 

And  Nana  Lalla  had  heard  the  singers' 
melodies. 

She  delighted  in  these  things. 

Delighted  in  them  exceedingly. 

She  tossed  and  she  turned. 

She  sighed  and  she  sobbed. 
[88] 


Attb 


And  then  she  arose. 

She  went  to  the  window. 

She  looked  through  the  lattice. 

The  moon  shone  in  the  sky. 

Shone  like  a  pool  of  silver. 

It  bathed  the  world  in  liquid  light. 

Nana  Lalla  loved  the  night. 

And  she  worshipped  the  moon. 

Nana  Lalla  wound  a  scarf  about  her 
body. 

Draped  a  shawl  over  her  head. 

And  slipped  sandals  on  her  feet. 

She  stole  out  of  her  room. 

She  slipped  out  of  the  house. 

And  once  again  she  fared  forth  through 
the  town. 

Never  had  Nana  Lalla  known  such  a 
night. 

Never  had  Nana  Lalla  seen  such  a  moon. 
So  soft,  and  so  silver. 
So  gentle,  and  so  gracious. 
And  yet  with  all,  so — maddening. 
Nana  Lalla's  eyes  sparkled. 
Nana  Lalla's  hands  trembled. 
And  Nana  Lalla's  heart  beat  high. 
[89] 


iHnmt 


Oh,  could  she  only  flee  away  from  the 
city! 

Could  she  only  flee  away  to  the  country! 

Could  she  only  flee  away — by  the  light 
of  the  moon ! 

Or  else — could  only  something  happen ! 

Something  strange. 

Something  sweet 

If  only— 

Someone  stood  before  her. 

Someone  spoke  to  her. 

Someone  touched  her  arm. 

It  was  a  man. 

And  yes — his  eyes  were  sparkling  too. 

His  hands  were  trembling  also. 

And  his  heart  was  beating  as  wildly  as 
was  hers. 

She  could  see. 

She  could  tell. 

She  could  feel. 

He  and  she  were  alone. 

Alone  at  midnight. 

And  the  moon  was  shining. 

How  she  loved  the  moon ! 

And  perhaps  he  loved  it  too. 

Nana  Lalla  was  not  afraid. 

Instead,  she  was  full  of  hope. 
[90] 


He   must   love   the   moon — even   as   did 
she! 

,  So,   when  he  touched  her,   she  did  not 
shrink  away. 

When  he  took  her  in  his  arms,  she  yielded 
herself. 

And  when  he  kissed  her — she  responded. 

The     Man     always     remembered    Nana 
Lalla. 

He  had  loved  her. 

And  he  thought  that  she  had  loved  him. 

But  Nana  Lalla  soon  forgot  the  Man. 

She  had  not  loved  him. 

She  had  only  loved — the  Moon 


THE  END 


[91] 


